Requiescat in Pace
by Geer and Gage
Summary: Post-game. Joy visits Ronan's grave for a final goodbye.


A gentle breeze rustled the leaves around her, sending them skittering softly over her shoes. She had been standing there long enough that the slight chill in the air had slipped under her jacket and set the soft hairs of her exposed forearms straight up.

And she still didn't know what to say.

What _could_ she say? What could she _possibly_ say that would express the turmoil of emotions inside her? Somehow, 'Hey, thanks for saving my life and good job in stopping a murderer- hope you're having fun with your wife' didn't seem quite right.

Joy stared down, unseeing, at the bouquet in her hands. She couldn't bring herself to look at the cold stone that marked her friend's remains. Not until she actually had something to say. Not until she knew that what she said was perfect- anything less, and she knew she'd never be satisfied with herself. Yes, she could always come back later, but it wouldn't be the same. After all, this was the first time she'd ever been to his grave, She'd never have that again.

"Ronan, it's me. Joy. I-" The girl's gaze flicked from the flowers to the gravestone before her, then quickly away. That was a stupid, _stupid_ way to start. If Ronan could hear her, he would already know it was her speaking.

"Look, Ronan." Joy swallowed, faintly surprised when the action hurt her throat. She gritted her teeth, determined to just say it and be over with before she teared up. "I don't know if you can see me or hear me. I don't know anything about wherever you are now. I just need to tell you something, and I need you to do your best to listen. I didn't know you were just going to leave like that, ok? I didn't know you wouldn't- Ronan, _I didn't get to say goodbye._"

She was shaking, slightly, by now. Whether from the cold, or from frustration, or from barely-suppressed tears she could not tell. "_Baxter_ was there with my mother, for god's sake. _Baxter._" Joy shook her head stiffly, then let out a soft breath as her shoulders slumped. "Sorry. …sorry. I just don't understand how you could just _leave_ like that. …maybe that's just how it works, though. You might've not been able to stop it."

…when had this final talk become a one-person discussion for Joy to work out her thoughts? Shit, shit, _shit._ This was not what she had come to do. It was supposed to be perfect, well crafted. Not a series of ill-chosen words sloppily put together.

"The truth is, Ronan, this is _really hard_ for me. I'm trying to say goodbye, and I don't even know if you're there. …let me start over." She'd just say what she was here to say. Nothing else. "Thank you for- for everything you did. For me, for my mom, for the girls Abigail would've killed later…" Joy trailed off, taking a deep breath. This didn't seem all that heart-felt or personal, but at least she was telling him what she wanted to. "Uh, yeah. That's mainly what I wanted to do. I just wanted to say thank you. So… thanks."

Joy shifted her weight, gripping the flower stems in her hands that much tighter. She swallowed again, thickly, as salty liquid began to pool in the corners of her eyes. "You know, if you could just give me a sign or something, tell me you can actually hear me, that'd be great, thanks. Anytime. Because I'd rather not just stand here, talking to myself." Her brows knit together and she bit down on her bottom lip, stilling the gentle quiver there. A young man walked by, averting his gaze. Another gust blew.

"Look, I know I said 'anytime', but I don't want to hang out here any more than I have to, ok? You know I don't like this place." Shaking her head, she knelt and placed the bouquet in front of the cold gravestone. "So, if you could hurry up with that sign, I'd appreciate it. Come on."

Joy stood, glancing around her as if Ronan's response would fall from the sky.

Eventually, her legs began to ache and she sat down, leaves rustling beneath her.

Eventually, she took her arms out of her sleeves so she could wrap the jacket around her, huddled against the chilly breezes.

Eventually, the young man left, looking at her curiously on his way out of the graveyard, and darkness began to descend. Joy took a deep breath, stood, and frowned when her legs ached from the movement.

Eventually, she said goodbye in a quiet voice and left, glancing back twice as she walked away. She wondered if she had missed something, or if the not-quite-satisfying experience was simply what it was like to lose someone.

It was funny, almost, she thought. For someone so used to death, she certainly didn't handle it well.


End file.
